


Serpent's Tongue

by bloodandcream



Series: Ship all the Ships [18]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Divergent, Cunnilingus, F/M, Human Anna, maybe a smidge of blasphemy, vague porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-27 16:24:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2699519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodandcream/pseuds/bloodandcream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn’t something that could be said, primal knowing, it was something to be shown. With his hands and his tongue he would teach her. The taste of her body was sharp on his tongue, the quiet gasps of her pleasure in this sacred space echoed profane. She came alive under his touch, this empty angel, rogue by choice. There was no neutrality in the wars of heaven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Serpent's Tongue

when the serpent comes  
with coiled body  
and twisted tongue  
he offers knowledge  
like over ripe temptation  
what truth is truth  
what love is love  
in the dark dark shadow  
that god casts  
dig down child  
dig deep  
and the fires you see  
in the belly of the earth  
will show you new knowledge  
bloody nails, dirty hands  
the outcasts cry  
what pittance is this to pay  
for the truth of all

-

It was an old white church with a tall proud steeple and a wide bright rosette of stained glass. The cross on top of the steeple stands high reaching up into the heavens begging for their Father to notice. He wasn’t looking, He didn’t care. Yet the humans still groveled.

Lucifer crossed the threshold, sacred ground, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t sting a little. It was more a wound to his pride than anything else, that he should be banished from his Father’s sacred space. Ambling down the aisle, he traced his fingers over the curving shoulders of worn wood pews. They held the imprints of all the faithful that had stepped foot in the church. The guilt of the sinners, their longing; the pride of the believers, their hope. He could feel them here, and it left a sour taste in his mouth.

This vessel was weak. It wouldn’t be long until it burned out, but for now it was new, it was whole. It would serve it’s purpose until he could find his true vessel. There were other things to find in the meantime, other demons, other angels. It was a war they were after, and wars needed bodies, needed weapons. Wars were hungry things.

She was here. Up in the attic of the church he could feel her reaching for the heavens like the cross on the steeple.

When Lucifer came to the top of the wood steps she was standing in the middle of the attic room with her face turned to the stained glass window, vivid red hair tumbling down her back, hands limp at her side. She was talking to them. As soon as she felt him though, she turned, those wide human eyes startled and frightful.

She took a step back, raising her hands defensively.

"You. What are you?”

"What do you mean?"

"You’re a monster."

Lucifer narrowed his gaze like it would narrow his focus on her, and he understood. She wasn’t meant to be human after all.

"You can see them. My wings."

"What?"

"I am an angel, Anael."

If she had the sight to see his true form, she might see who he was. But a serpent’s tongue is hypnotic. His wings were broken and charred, mangled things, singed black and wilting. There were times Lucifer considered ripping them from his back, but he wanted to force his brother to see them again, to force Michael to see what he had done.

"You are an angel? Are you hurt?"

"This happened a long time ago. My wings were injured irreparably in the fighting."

"In the fighting?"

"In heaven’s war."

Anna was still backing away from him, until her legs hit the edge of a large wood desk and she leaned against it. Lucifer stepped towards her, reached out and cupped her face in one of his hands. She was a young and lovely thing, ripe for corruption.

"Sweet child. You have seen me for what I am. You hear my brothers singing. You must know the truth of it."

"What do you mean?"

There was hunger in her eyes. To know.

"You are an angel, Anael."

"What?"

"You are fallen from heaven and bound to a human vessel. But you are still an angel. I have come to help you."

She shook her head, dislodging his hand, straight red hair whipping around her face.

"I don’t need help."

"You do. Because they will come for you. You hear them, their incessant plotting, their anger. There are angels that would hurt you, Anael, that would steal you away. I only want to help you."

"How can you help me?"

"I can restore your Grace. You would be an angel again, with the power to fight. I would give that to you. And you would stand by my side with a gleaming sword."

He brought both hands to her face and held her lightly, tilting her face up to look at him. She would see his Grace, the light of his presence. Though his wings were mangled and torn, his Grace shone bright still like the Morningstar, and she would awe at his beauty.

"I don’t, I don’t remember anything. I don’t know how to fight. I can’t be an angel."

"You are. I will show you the way. If you give yourself to me, I will give you everything."

He bent forward and kissed her forehead in benediction, thumbs tracing the curve of graceful cheekbones. He bent forward and kissed her lips in possession, body pressed to hers and she trembled beneath his touch.

"What do you want from me?"

He kissed her cheek.

"Your loyalty."

He kissed her other cheek.

"Your faith."

There was a flush underneath the pale smooth skin, plush lips parted just barely.

"But what do I need to do?"

"I will find your Grace. You need only accept it and you will be restored to the angel you were. Then you will fight with me."

"Why are the angels fighting?"

"Angels are always fighting. It is what we do."

Circling a hand behind her back, broad palm to the small dip, he pressed their lips together again and felt the hitch of her breath, the warmth of her body. There was wanting in fear and it had been insatiable curiosity, desire, that must have flung her from the heavens before. The angels starved in the barren darkness cast by God’s shadow. Between heaven and hell, a forgotten angel on earth, she belonged with him.

Fingertips brushing under the hem of her shirt, tongue curling into her mouth, he could offer her all the temptations she wanted, all the knowledge she craved, if he could quell her doubts and fears. Pushing forward, slipping one leg between hers, nudging her up to sit on the edge of the desk, she parted her legs for him and brought her arms up to circle his neck. Tipped back, exposed neck, eyes closed, mouth open, she invited him in.

Lucifer kissed the smooth skin of her neck, taut with muscle and slender to the curve of her shoulder, pulling her shirt away from the jut of collar bone that dipped to the notch where he lay his lips. Slender fingers slipped through his hair and she shuddered.

"I don’t want to hurt anyone. I don’t want to kill angels."

"They will hunt you. They will hurt you. When they find you, would you slit your own throat for them?"

"But why?"

"Our Father has abandoned us, a long time ago, and his children are lost. I will lead you Anael, I will show you the way."

Twisting his hands up in the fabric of her shirt he lifted it and she lifted her arms. Unclasping her bra, pulling off his vessel’s own shirt, he pulled her close. She was so fragile like this, hollow, an echo of her former self aching for the touch of her Grace again.

He was not leading her astray, he was leading her to the light of a new dawn.

"Stand by me."

Laying her down against the desk, pressing his mouth to the dips and rises of her body, he caressed the quivering planes of her belly and fit his hands to her hips.

"Stand with me."

Sure fingers at the waist of her jeans, lips above the pulse of her heart, he removed her pants and lay her bare. The bright sun shone through the rosette stained glass and cast shadows of saints along her pale skin, a vessel to be drawn on, stories to be told. The colors warped over the curves of her body, played in the swirls of her hair.

"Fight with me."

Kneeling at the edge of the desk between her thighs, legs fitted over his shoulders, he could show her how many ways there were to worship. Unclasping his own pants he let them fall as he crouched before her. She was watching him, with shaking hands she reached for him.

"And you will know the truth of all."

Pressing kisses to the tender skin of her thighs, he would be so gentle taking her apart, pop the seams one by one so the fabric doesn’t tear. Then he could make her anew again, in his image, fill her with her Grace and shape it to his purpose. He held her hands while he lapped the pink wet places between her legs with a twisting tongue. Pressing the secrets of his knowledge into her skin, it was visceral truth, something frightening to behold and overwhelming to endure. But it could be so so sweet, peeling back layers till the core of it was exposed.

It wasn’t something that could be said, primal knowing, it was something to be shown. With his hands and his tongue he would teach her. The taste of her body was sharp on his tongue, the quiet gasps of her pleasure in this sacred space echoed profane. She came alive under his touch, this empty angel, rogue by choice. There was no neutrality in the wars of heaven.

He moved his mouth against the secret places of her body and slid his hands over her skin. Rubbing his cheek against the soft patch of red curls he kissed the heaving skin of her stomach and slotted himself along her, between slender legs. Arms braced beside her head he beheld her, the beatific pleasure on her face cast in stained shadows.

"We shouldn’t do this here."

Lips parted on a pant and bit swollen, still she resisted him.

"What love is more pure than that of the angels in the house of our Father?"

Closing his lips over hers, Lucifer swallowed her breath and let his cold burning Grace seep ever so slightly into her. Pulling her legs up around his waist, he pressed into her as she arched off the desk and clutched at his shoulders. Fingers tangling in the hair fanning around her, hips pressed flush and mouths devouring each other, she sank her nails into his skin leaving marks on the landscape of his vessel. Mark for mark, an act of possession, he sucked the swell of her lip into his mouth and kissed lower down the length of her neck, leaving his marks bit into her skin, blossoming dark bruises.

"You are mine."

"Yes."

"Give your soul to me and I will restore you."

"Yes. Yes."

Her eyes were glazed, her chanting a whisper, but it was concession and he greedily swallowed it into himself, sealing their bodies together mouth to mouth, pressed deep inside her. She writhed beneath him in ecstasy as he thrust into her, pulling forth all the secrets of carnal sin. Her slender body curled and stretched, skin taut over sharp bone, soft vulnerable stretches laid bare. She cried out and pulled him closer, legs locked around his waist, breath jagged.

He smiled, curled a hand beneath her neck to cradle her head, held on to the curve of her hip and fucked into her in the light of the rosette window in the attic above the altar to God. 

"You are mine, Anael."

Her eyes snapped open like his revelation had wrapped around her soul and she knew the truth of it, body shuddering violently as she came, and he held her down body and soul when he released into her.

"I am your God, Lucifer."


End file.
